Bradley Toby T.

Bradley Toby T.

         If Brad had one thing, it was popularity. He was, as anyone could tell you, quite talented in both the arts and athletics, exhibiting these talents in a school where a high value was placed on both. He was charming, witty and comfortable in response to any situation, and he had a knack for humor, a refined sense that made other students, most essentially girls, think of him as confident and playful. He could talk to anyone he knew even faintly and have an intelligent, funny conversation with them, leaving the other person feeling good about themselves, and inevitably feeling good about Brad. This feeling was partly because of the conversation, and to a vaster extent, simply because it was Brad.
         Today was no exception. Brad was walking through the crowd after one of his early-morning classes. All different people walked up to him:

· A large, hairy Hispanic man who towered over him, yet still made the effort to bend down and give him a special hand shake, developed most likely by the local State Championship basketball team.

· A stunningly figured, slightly tanned white girl who had decided to show off a healthy percentage of her skin that day. She could have been older than him, or could have just been enhancing her age with make-up and long hair. The two shared a slow intimate hug, with her slipping ever so sensuously into his perfectly proportioned and well-toned arms. They did in fact press up against each other in such a way that more than a few males in the hall would turn their heads to catch what they believed wasn’t supposed to be seen in High School. It was something of a mystery as to whether the two were actually dating.

· A teacher--an art teacher, at the very least. “Hey, what’s up, Brad?” the almost Bohemian looking man inquired. The teacher continued speaking with the passionate vigor of a sports coach, intermittently shaking his right index finger as though he had found himself in the fifth quarter of a four-quarter game. “You better be taking my pottery class next semester. We need you in there, man, seriously. You’re my rock. Hell, You are 'The Rock.'”

· Another girl that looked about the same age as him, probably a sophomore, that approached him at a weaving diagonal. Whereas the earlier girl had clearly already blossomed, this girl seemed as though she were still in the process, as her sharp, beautiful face would surely soon be on top of a more curvy, womanful body. She acknowledged him, as she swooned, in a gentle voice that seemed at the same time voluptuous, fragile, and maybe a little tragic. “Hi Brad,” she said, stretching the words out so he’d be sure to hear her at some point over everyone else. Perhaps she saw in herself what everyone else saw without even meeting her, that she would need another year to grow out of her Jr. High prettiness and into her high school beauty if she wanted to get into the elite girl circle of Brad. She was utterly infatuated, if not desperately in love, with Bradley Tobias Tennebaker. Nonetheless, right now he ignored her, and from this her eyebrows could be seen from halfway across the hall, returning slowly from a fawning facial expression to an uneasy vigilance of despair.

         It was now that I caught the girl’s eye. It might have been for only a split second, but I still think it connected us for that short moment, as direct eye contact always does. She was so sweet, so sincere--I wanted to console her, tell her everything would be okay, even if she didn’t need it. I hoped she could see the sympathy in my eyes, of someone who knew the feeling of heartbreak and rejection just as well as any girl believed she did.
         I was no friend of Brad’s, as well no acquaintance. I was merely trying to shadow the renowned man standing before me. I stood always two steps behind him, soaking up all the glory he received from the humble passer by, as though the glory were all mine. If only my name were Brad, it would be so much easier to lose myself in his wonder and grandeur on these lonely, interclass walks.
         I hope I fooled you into thinking I was Brad. If so, then I finally have something I can be very happy about. If I can fool you, then I can surely fool myself. And if this is true, oh how I hope this is true, well then it is very, very, very, very good.
         For now I have accomplished something.